


Strange New Worlds

by jolly



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Mirror Universe, Multi, Polyamory, Polygamy, Pre-Reform Vulcan, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolly/pseuds/jolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terra, or Earth as it's known to its inhabitants, is the center of the greatest empire in the galaxy. Vulcan, a desert planet constantly at war, has become Terra's greatest ally. The two planets trade freely in all things- soldiers, strategies, and slaves.<br/>George and Winona Kirk sold their son to save his life.<br/>Leonard McCoy gave up his freedom to save his father.<br/>Sarek buys for his family all the slaves he can afford in order to conceal his disgrace.<br/>Three bitter young men, so used to being alone, may finally find their solutions together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Life, and New Civilizations

**Author's Note:**

> SEPTEMBER 8th 2016 MARKS THE 50TH ANNIVERSARY OF STAR TREK TOS!!! 
> 
> I had the idea that Mirrorverse Earth and Prereform Vulcan could have existed in the same universe, and then this story just wouldn't get out of my head. So here it is!  
>  **Please note:** As of right now, I have only seen the original and animated series (as well as the TOS movies). I know that in other series, the interaction between Mirror!Earth and Mirror!Vulcan is quite different, but I take as canon only what I know from TOS/TAS. Also take into account that in this AU, Vulcan is still Pre-Reform, which would make for great variation in Mirrorverse history. Also, like, it's an AU, so there are things here that canon doesn't support.
> 
> I'll add tags as they become necessary. I've got a general idea where this is going, but I haven't decided on all the details yet. So for now, what I've tagged is what you can expect to be here for sure. There might be other things. I don't know. If things get ugly (or sexy) I'll change the rating/warnings. For now it's all pg.  
> This is my first time writing a story like this so please be patient with me. Feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Tiberius Kirk could really believe he'd somehow ended up in Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah I know I said I would get ch7 of TMoE out soon, but when I remembered the TOS anniversary... I just had to get the first chapter of this story out on time. Please forgive me. Now that I have this started, MoE will update soon. For real this time, I promise.

The heat was merciless on Vulcan. Oppressive beams from the glaring, bright sun struck the reddish landscape. The ground baked, radiating the heat back up into the air. It was almost a presence in and of itself, like the suffocating company of a crowd pressed too close together. And a crowd there was, there at the slave market. Traders from all over the Empire brought their stock to the mountains and valleys of the Vulcan desert, knowing that Vulcans provided more profit than the Terrans did in this industry (while slaves on Terra die just as often as they do on Vulcan, Vulcans never sell slaves back to the traders, only buy more). 

A small cargo bus, marked as Terran in origin, docked in the slave market's shipyard. The bus was small only in terms of interstellar vehicles, having room for a mere one hundred passengers besides the crew. Its metallic hull flashed a blinding white in the harsh midday sun, cargo spilling out into the desert as the bay doors opened. The Terran slaves were barefoot and shirtless, tied together single-file by belts around their hips and wrists bound in front of them with nanotech mesh rope. They squinted in the bright light, marching solemnly after the trader and watched by his crew on all sides. Their skin sizzled and their feet burned. Sweat collected in all the uncomfortable places, leaving glistening trails as it slithered down their backs. Wrists and thighs chafed where they brushed together. Struggling to feel like he had enough air in his lungs, James Tiberius Kirk could really believe he'd somehow ended up in Hell. 

They were led to the marketplace, a narrow canyon between vermilion cliffs, occupied by colorful tents and shouting people. The market stood on neutral land, unclaimed by any tribe. Jim watched the Vulcan buyers with a stony expression while the trader untied a few of the stronger ones from the train to pitch their tent. Despite the unbearable heat, the locals were dressed in thick, heavy robes that brushed the ground. Below the neckline, only their hands were visible. The hems were stained with dust and would need washing at the end of the day- he wasn't looking forward to that. Men and women alike wore their silky dark hair long, elbow length at the very least. Some had braids, but most of them left it loose. And they were generously adorned with jewelry; ear, nose, and lip piercings, rings, necklaces, bracelets, and hair beads. Gold and silver and colorful gems glinted in the sunlight, their jangling melting into the constant background noise. 

LEDs in the nanofibers of the tent's cloth advertised what was being sold inside: TERRAN - ALL AGES - ALL SEXES - PRICE NEGOTIABLE. Inside, the trader had set up old-fashioned fans to cool the air. The slaves stood in rows under an industrial light, watching the tent flap warily and awaiting the buyers. They were given pills to swallow that lessened the sting of their burns, and sips of nutrient-rich water to sustain them for the rest of the day. 

Jim shifted restlessly in his place, looking around at the others. They had spent the whole trip here together in the cargo bay of the trader's ship, but nobody had responded to his attempts at establishing friendship. He could understand them, not that he was happy about it. Most of them were older than him, had lost their freedom long ago. Jim's seven years of slavery had almost been enough to break him, and he'd always been tough about these things. Any time a potential buyer entered the tent, he saw the others cast their eyes down automatically. The Vulcans looked like severe masters, but maybe it was just their appearance. The pointed ears and sharp, straight eyebrows made for a devilish countenance, and that was all besides the faint greenish tint under their skin. Jim didn't know how slaves were treated on this planet. He'd heard there was a high mortality rate for humans, but maybe that was because of the climate and thin air. Still, if they were anything like the masters on Earth, it would do him no good to act out. There were some scars left over from the last time Jim had forgotten his place. He scowled. These bastards didn't deserve his respect, but it was only worse for him if he made any sign of it. Better to bide his time, play it safe until an opportunity arose.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the entrance of a new customer. The man's layered robes were a particularly deep shade of red and a necklace of gold plates hung down to his chest. He wore smooth red stones in his ears and his fingers were heavy with rings, and many golden beads decorated his graying hair. He had the face of someone who may once have been kind, but now was unhappy and quite short-tempered. 

The trader rose from behind his portable folding desk to enthusiastically greet the prospective buyer. They spoke a little in the Vulcan language; according to the trader's gesticulations their conversation was probably about what sort of slave the man was looking for. Jim huffed quietly and crossed his arms. He hated being treated like a piece of furniture.  _This one's skin tone doesn't match my house decor. This one would be too expensive to feed. Too old, too young, overused, inexperienced._ The masters always had something to complain about. 

Jim watched the Vulcan wander around between them, occasionally inspecting more closely by lifting an arm or turning a head. Jim's skin was beginning to itch as he got nearer and nearer. He wasn't sure exactly why he was nervous. This was a process he'd gone through twice already. He'd learned to control his urge to start a fight he'd doubtless lose. The man approached. Jim lifted his chin and glared defiantly into the mans eyes.  _Buy me. I dare you._  He couldn't openly challenge, but he would not be deferential. The Vulcan grinned, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him to the trader, who was pretending not to watch from his desk. 

The two men discussed more in Vulcan. Jim slouched, ignoring the other slaves' stares. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the Vulcan man burst out yelling. The trader looked about as startled as Jim felt, holding out placating hands and trying to negotiate. It continued for a good few minutes, escalating to the point of slamming hands on the desk, until the pale and perspiring trader finally conceded. The Vulcan, apparently satisfied, remained silent from that point on. He watched the trader turn Jim's arm to see the serial number printed on the inside, copy the digits into his PADD, and scribble out a signature. He turned the screen and gave the Vulcan a stylus to sign his own name. Jim felt a tiny electric buzz in his forearm as his ID chip updated. 

So that was that. He followed the man out of the tent, both of them maintaining their silence. Jim was sure the Vulcan could speak and understand standard Earth tongue, as it was the official language of the Empire, but he wasn't eager to start a conversation with this master he didn't know yet. 

They walked for a long time, leaving the market behind and continuing along a beaten footpath that was only barely visible. The desert looked untouched all around them, the only signs of civilization being small clusters of spired structures in the distance. There were no paved roads between the cities, it seemed. Jim was astounded that anyone could find their way around on this planet. Everything looked the same. And evidently, everyone frickin' loved walking. 

By the time they arrived in a city, the sky was already dusky and filling with stars. Jim's knees ached, he probably had a bad sunburn, and he was entirely covered in a film of dust. What a great place. Here, at least, the streets were paved with smooth, square stones. They seemed to be arranged in a sort of wheel pattern, some roads radiating out from a central point, while the others formed rings around it. Jim wondered vaguely what was at the center of the city, but lacked the energy to think too hard about it. 

At last, the Vulcan led them into a building. It was a few degrees cooler inside, to Jim's great relief. The man called out to someone unseen, leading him to what was unmistakably the bathroom. Unlike everything else he'd witnessed so far, these facilities were modern, even classy. Most of the appliances were stamped with Terran brand names. That shower called to him like a siren, but he didn't dare touch anything without permission. Who knows how they would punish him for getting their fancy _self-cleaning_ toilet dirty. Jim struggled not to roll his eyes at the thought.

"Sarek, how many times must I tell you I prefer we speak English in the house?"

The Vulcan- Sarek- sighed heavily as the owner of the disembodied voice entered. Jim raised his eyebrows. A human woman, not very tall (to put it politely), looking to be somewhere in her mid-fifties. Her loose, shoulder-length curls were gray, and there were wrinkles around her soft blue eyes, but she still had an ethereal, ageless beauty about her. She wore lighter clothes than Sarek, a tunic of fluttery light blue fabric over cerulean leggings. Her arms were bare except for her many silver bracelets, matching the delicate necklaces, earrings, and hair beads she wore, as well as her casual sandals. 

She looked Jim over with a frown. "Sarek, look at the poor boy! What a terrible burn. Really, couldn't you have taken better care?"

"His injuries are minor and can be healed, can they not?" Sarek's voice was indignant.

The woman made a face at him, to which he didn't respond. At length, she admitted, "yes, he'll be alright."

"Good," Sarek nodded. "I leave him in your care until tomorrow." He held out two fingers toward her. She gently pressed her own middle- and forefinger to Sarek's. "Good night, my wife."

She smiled. "Sleep well, husband."

Sarek turned, leaving the two Terrans alone together. Jim eyed her cautiously, but she only smiled, introducing herself as Amanda Grayson. He provided his own name at her prompting. She gave him another pill for his sunburn and blistered feet.

"Jim. You must be tired. I'll give you some privacy, while I prepare you something to eat. Feel free to use anything you need in this room. When you're done just call me, I'll be right outside."

"Um, thanks." Jim blinked at the door after it closed behind her. It had been a long time since someone had been decent towards him. Jim took his time in the shower, utilizing generous amounts of soap to rub the dirt out of his skin and the ache out of his muscles. The pill he had swallowed took effect, making him tingle as he rapidly healed. Once he was clean and dry, Jim put on the simple white robe of synthetic cloth that Amanda had left for him. He ran a hand through his damp hair, an incredulous grin tugging at his lips. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like when it wasn't stiff and greasy.

He ate with Amanda, who was happy to tell him about herself. Jim was mostly curious what she was doing on Vulcan, being a free Terran who could live on any planet in the Empire. 

"I was a teacher," she looked at Jim with amusement, but her eyes were unnervingly hard. "At Starfleet Academy."

Jim jerked backwards in his seat. The Academy produced the most ruthless and effective soldiers in the Empire. But even starship captains had admitted to fearing their instructors. But Amanda didn't seem like that at all. He remained silent, waiting for her to continue. 

Amanda laughed softly. "Yes, I taught biology. More precisely, how to make use of it for harm. More than one of my colleagues, er, disapproved of my methods. I felt I would be safer off-planet. Somewhere they wouldn't expect to find me." She twirled her fork absently, thoughtful. "Well, Jim, I think it's time for bed. You can sleep on the couch, I'll get you some things for the night. Important day tomorrow!"

Jim stood to help her clear the dishes, but she waved him off. "What's happening tomorrow?"

She turned to him from the kitchen door with a smile. "You'll be meeting my son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this on no sleep so let me know if you see any errors, thanks!


	2. Cold-Blooded Hotheads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock's never pleased to see his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, it's really hard writing prereform Vulcans. They feel so out of character. I'm trying my best to preserve their personalities, though, so please forgive me!!
> 
> Life update: due to unfortunate circumstances, I have very little time to write right now. I already updated very slowly beforee, but it's even more difficult now. That doesn't mean I have any intention of dropping this story, or any of my others. I will put more effort into writing during my limited free time, but I can't make any promises at this point. With this in mind, please be patient regarding my update speed! Hopefully I'll get more time soon. Meanwhile, enjoy this chapter :) LLAP.

Following Sarek and Amanda through the streets, Jim wondered again how often people got lost here. The buildings, either rounded and squat or sharp and towering, looked largely the same to him, not to mention that the roughly symmetrical array of roads were impossible to tell apart. Usually, Jim had an impeccable sense of direction, but with the curve of the road, all he knew was that they were moving inwards, closer to the center of the city.

The sun had risen a few hours ago and already the air was hot. But whatever stone these buildings were built with was still cool, resistant to the temperature, and provided blessed shade. He'd been told to wear the light tunic Amanda had given him the previous day, but even that covered most of his body. Bitterly, Jim thought to himself that there was really no way for him to be comfortable on this planet. Not that he had any right to comfort, but he was pretty used to that. Still, he kind of wished they would have at least let him go shirtless. There were treatments for sunburns, but heatstroke was a little less pleasant to heal.

Thankfully, he wasn't expected to participate in conversation, and tuned out the occasional comment in Vulcan between his caretakers in favor of looking around. There weren't many people about, Jim wasn't sure if that was due to the hour or the heat or something else. Maybe this part of the city just wasn't particularly busy. After all, it was residential, as far as he could tell. Those he did see were dressed like Amanda and Sarek in heavy looking, layered robes that left almost no skin exposed, a complex palette of colors that juxtaposed against the sandy monochrome of the desert city. The sun glinted off an array of jewelry- piercings, pendants, hair decorations, et cetera- as Jim was beginning to understand was not only a fashion choice but apparently a social necessity. One or two raised the Vulcan salute in greeting, which Sarek and Amanda returned. When they spared Jim a glance, he curled his lip at them.

Amanda caught his arm. "I don't recommend provoking strangers," she whispered. "Vulcans are two things above all: proud, and short tempered. They'd sooner kill a neighbor's slave for their honor than ignore them, and you can be sure that'll start bigger problems. It's not worth it."

Jim blanched, peeking over his shoulder at the recipients of his scowl, but they seemed uninterested in him, for which he was grateful. He made it a point to keep his face forward for the rest of their walk. Amanda's intentions were good, Jim believed that, but her words hurt nonetheless. Because in saying "it's not worth it," there was an underlying message. A slave's life wasn't worth that much trouble. He wasn't worth that trouble. The thought made him angry. Why was his own life worth less than anyone else's? What was so absurd about avenging Jim's life? These weren't new questions in Jim's mind. He used to ask himself these things a lot since he first became a slave. How was his existence any different, any more or less significant than that of his brother, Sam? Or Governor Kodos? Or Amanda? Laying awake night after night for the first year, asking himself these questions and finding no answers, had only served to kindle the flames of Jim's contempt for everything and everyone who had put him in this place.

 

It took a good minute for the door to open after Sarek rang the bell. Or, whatever it was. It's purpose was the same. Standing in the entry, then, was another human, with startling, cornflower blue eyes. _Christ, how many of us are there on this godforsaken planet? What is this, Earth: the sequel?_  To Jim's mild astonishment, he was dressed in Terran clothes, a simple black undershirt and dark denim jeans, and barefoot. A rather attractive outfit, albeit a few years out of style. Despite being a couple inches shorter than Jim, he had a mature air about him, and Jim guessed he was a few years older. But shit, he conceded, the guy sure was pretty.

He didn't appear too pleased to see them, though. Clasping his hands casually behind him, his mouth twisted into the shape of a lopsided not-smile, one russet-brown eyebrow raised high. When he spoke, it was in Vulcan. Although he wasn't used to hearing the language yet, Jim did notice the man's Terran accent, which softened and rounded the sharp edges of the Vulcan tongue. And of what he said, Jim only recognized Sarek's name and the deadpan tone of his voice. Some things transcended language- Jim didn't bother concealing his smirk. The way he spoke to Amanda, however, was considerably more pleasant. From the short time he had spent with the couple, Jim could already relate to the sentiment.

For a moment, the blue-eyed man's attention landed on Jim. He smiled at him, a sweet, benevolent curving of the lips, and Jim's heart fluttered. Feeling paralyzed, he didn't manage to return the smile before the door was closed again, and the three of them were still outside.

* * *

Amanda's son had a reputation of being a bit eccentric, by Vulcan standards, but that may well have been due to the fact that he'd been raised in a half-human household. Unlike most of his peers, Spock's marriage to the tribe's matriarch was his only one, and that had been arranged in his childhood. Many tribespeople of all genders had expressed an interest in marrying him, but he consistently refused. He didn't leave the house much except to visit T'Pring when she called for him, or when there was a war he was expected to fight in. Very rarely were visitors welcome in his home, and even in the event he granted them entry, he would make it quite clear how he felt about their presence. The one other person allowed free range of the property was Leonard McCoy, a Terran slave his mother had given him as a wedding present. At first, the singular reason Spock kept him around was because McCoy was a gift from his mother, but the human had grown on him alarmingly fast.

For the most part, Spock spent his time reading and researching. He took after his mother's interest in the sciences, but where she specialized in biology, he was much more intrigued by chemistry. The tribe could attribute many of their most effective weapons to his experiments, such as bombs and poisonous gases, although there were those who found them too passive and still preferred more violent alternatives. Spock himself did not like to participate in close-range battles. Both enemies and friends in abundance would have liked to see what color the hybrid bled. So he endeavored to make himself useful in other ways, admittedly in part to maintain the honor of his family. The name S'chn T'gai was in a precarious place, having been wounded four times: the first time, by Sarek's brother leaving the tribe; then by Sarek's second marriage to Amanda, a human; again by Sarek's eldest son, Sybok, following in his uncle's footsteps; and at last by Spock's very birth. His father had hoped that marrying him off to the future matriarch would secure their family's place. But Stonn had taken the position of primary spouse to T'Pring, leaving Spock a secondary, which meant very little in the long run. Sarek was constantly trying to polish his son's reputation, which Spock had quickly grown weary of, to the great indignation of his father. Needless to say, they were not on the best of terms. Spock was never pleased to see his father.

Spock groaned into his book when McCoy informed him that Sarek was at the door. "War and Death, can't he leave me alone? Don't let him in."

"Your mother is with him," McCoy added with an apologetic smile. "And a slave."

 _Another one?_ He raised an eyebrow. "Did they tell you what they want?"

McCoy shook his head. Spock sighed, leaning his head on the high back of his chair. A memory of their last 'conversation' flashed through his mind, and he covered his eyes with a hand, groaning. That had ended relatively well, with only one shattered dinner plate.

"Great," Spock said drily. "I missed hearing his voice so much I might cry."

"I feel the same way, but not much we can do about that." McCoy grinned mischievously, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Wanna piss him off while he's here?"

Spock met his gaze, eyes glinting and mouth upturned, delighted by the prospect. "Absolutely."

 

He accompanied McCoy in opening the door the second time, making sure to keep their fingers touching in plain view. Besides being a good way to irritate his father, Spock truly did enjoy kissing McCoy like this. It sent a pleasant tingle throughout his body, and though it wasn't quite enough contact for Spock to achieve full telepathy without exerting himself, he could sense the doctor's affection like a warm current underlying his thoughts. He hooked his two fingers around McCoy's for moral support before opening the door.

Amanda smiled serenely upon seeing him, while Sarek sported a decidedly more impatient expression. Spock pointedly looked his father in the eyes before turning away. "Hello, Mother," he greeted fondly. 

"Oh, Spock, it's good to see you." She tenderly swept a loose hair behind his ear, always quick to touch. As if he was still a child. "May we come inside?"

"That depends." Turning a frigid smile to Sarek, Spock took pleasure in the sharp downward angle of his father's mouth. So, he had noticed. "What do you want?"

Sarek and Amanda opened their mouths at the same time to speak, but the force of Sarek's deprecation (and the volume of his voice) overpowered Amanda's words before her sentence was complete.

All Spock managed to hear of his mother was, "Don't be-"

Before his father interrupted with a rather loud, "Do you care at all about your place in the tribe? I went to all the trouble of raising you up into T'Pring's family- you can't imagine how much trouble- and what have you shown for it? No spouses, no children, no family. You just live here alone, publicizing this vulgar relationship with your human slave," he spat the last word like it was bitter on his tongue. "Your selfishness will be the end of family S'chn T'gai. History will remember you as nothing but a traitor to your own blood, you ungrateful-"

"Ah," Spock nodded once. "So you've come to lecture me again. In that case, goodbye." He began to close the door, but Sarek's hand shot up to stop him.

"Wait." He sighed, eyes squeezing shut, brow wrinkling in exasperation. "I've... brought you a gift."

At last, Spock allowed his curious eyes to slide to the Terran slave standing a bit behind. Surrounded by red sand and harsh sun, he looked golden. Skin likely tanned by years of negligence as he labored outdoors, overgrown yellow hair falling in gentle waves and curling softly around his human ears. He blinked wide, hazel eyes, lips parting halfway like he wasn't sure whether to smile or scowl.

Carefully schooling his own expression, Spock raised an eyebrow. "Again, Sarek? What use to me is another slave?"

"T'Pring's second husband can't go around with just one slave," his father sneered. "It makes you look poor."

"I already told you, Leonard is quite sufficient. Anyone else is superfluous."

Though he had already shifted his attention away, he could tell the slave was furious at being spoken about this way. Spock could appreciate that, at least. 

"Spock," Amanda said quickly, before her husband could retort. "Please take him, for me?" Her expression was soft and motherly, knowing that Spock understood what she meant without saying it.

"Oh, fine," Spock grumbled, "but mark me, Father, this is the last time I accept a gift from you."

"Please don't say that, love," Amanda chided with a sad smile. 

"It was good to see you, Mother," was Spock's reply, before McCoy pulled the slave inside and shut the door between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is an AU I pretty much made up with no basis, I thought it might be helpful to give a little explanation of Vulcan tribal hierarchy in this 'verse. I'm not totally sure if I'll have enough time in this story to fully explain it- maybe if I had been a writer with more skill- so please let me know if you guys are interested in that?? If someone is, I'll put it in the notes on the next chapter. Thanks for reading, babes!


	3. An Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets to know his new home a little, as well as his new housemates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for your patience and your support. I swear, I'm writing like one sentence per week. Sorry this chapter might be a little short, but I hate making you wait, so I'm just posting this in the meantime.  
> Anyway, writing prereform continues to be strange and difficult. As always, I love hearing from you! It's super awesome motivation and really helps me keep writing.  
> LLAP, and enjoy! :)

Spock certainly resembled his father in appearance, Jim noted. Tall and thin, just on the border of gangly, his pale skin highlighted with greenish hues where a human's would be red. The same bold, angular features, twisted by the same sour expression. But he had something of Amanda's cunning in his father's deep brown eyes. Jim stood just inside the door and watched him with a guarded expression. Sarek's son. Amanda's son. Who did he take after? Or was he something new entirely?

The Vulcan wore a simple brown tunic, embroidered with Vulcan characters along the hemlines in a shimmering golden thread. Hanging from his ears were a wide variety of copper and gold earrings, ranging from small hoops to fine dangling ones to studs inlaid with multicolored stones. The thick rings decorating his fingers matched the ones holding up his hair in a half-ponytail; raven black, as Sarek's must once have been, but descending in an easy cascade of loose curls extremely uncommon in Vulcans.

 

Spock inspected him absently for a moment before speaking. "Name," he said tonelessly, in barely accented English.

Jim answered automatically, already used to this sort of question. "Kirk, James Tiberius. Sir," he added hastily, unsure of the Vulcan's expectations. The other Terran snickered. Jim's attention slid to him, but he looked more mirthful than abashed at being caught laughing. He winked, as if they were sharing an inside joke.

"Fine," Spock sighed impatiently. "Doctor, please explain the household rules to James Kirk and settle him in. I suggest placing him in a room adjacent to yours." He paused, looking Jim over again. He expected Spock to say something else, but instead he turned to leave.

"What in the hell kind of introduction is that?" Demanded the Terran who Jim inferred to be the doctor. The mirth was gone now, replaced by belligerent indignation.

Spock turned back around. A cold shock ran through Jim. This Terran- another slave- had just spoken like that to his master on Jim's behalf. 

But the Vulcan's expression hadn't changed. "Excuse me?"

The doctor crossed his arms. "Look, I know it's been a long time since you've done this, but I ain't gonna do all the work for you. We don't know anything about the kid, and you just toss him to me like an unwanted gift?"

"He is an unwanted gift," Spock helpfully reminded him.

This only enraged the doctor. "I don't know what you're seeing with those Vulcan eyes of yours, but he looks like a person to me. A person you're gonna have to deal with for the foreseeable future. So I suggest you get to know him."

Jim was really starting to like the sound of the doctor's Southern voice.

"It is a big house," Spock retorted, clearly uncomfortable with the concept.

The doctor sputtered furiously. "Why, you green-blooded bastard!" Astounded, Jim could feel his jaw dropping to the floor. "Big house my ass! Y'all'd best change your attitude before I-- well, you don't wanna know what I'll do!" In his anger, the doctor's rich accent thickened.

Spock raised an eyebrow, looking about ready to kill the doctor, or punch him at the very least. "What, McCoy? What will you do to me?"

Doctor McCoy fumed, mouth working as he formed a response. "I- you- I'll-"

"Nevermind, if it bothers you that much. I don't have the energy to argue." McCoy's eyes flashed, but Spock cut him off before he could say anything else. "So, James Kirk, tell us about yourself."

The room was awfully quiet suddenly. Jim blinked, belatedly registering the question. "Uh, twenty years old, born in Iowa, moved um, off-planet at age nine. I have experience doing all sorts of house and field work, I'm fit and healthy, got all my vaccinations." He shrugged. "What else do you want to know? Sir."

"Dogs or cats?"

Jim raised his eyebrows at McCoy. "More of a dog person."

"Good," said the doctor. "We can be friends then."

Spock was scowling. "That's enough, I think. I'll be in my library." And with that, he marched off.

The doctor huffed out a sigh before turning to Jim with an apologetic half-grin. "You'll get used to him eventually. I'm Leonard McCoy," he said, offering a hand, "but you can call me Bones."

"Jim," he responded, taking Bones's hand with an awkward smile. 

 

Bones took him on a brief tour of the building. First the important places:

The kitchen, which occupied the squat half-dome structure at the base of the building. Inside was plain, the walls a natural sandy hue without decoration or even windows. It housed a huge Vulcan version of those ancient clay ovens on Earth, four almost floor-to-ceiling columns of cupboards, what was probably a refrigeration unit, and a very large table in the center of the room. Bones, like a tour guide for a very interesting site, explained that homes like these were made to accommodate very large households, so there was a lot of unoccupied and extraneous space. 

The dining room- because of course they couldn't eat around the massive kitchen table- where several small, low to the ground pentagonal tables were pushed against the wall, leaving one slightly larger one standing all by itself in the center of the room, an assortment of pillows thrown around it. Here there were windows, between which hung various works of art, ranging from stone masks to beaten gold disks to -- was that  _real hair?_ Arranged in interesting and beautiful figures- swirls, waves, and loops- and still held together by the glimmering beads and bands he'd seen on everyone on this planet. Except for Bones, who had his hair cut short. Was that socially acceptable? Jim would have to ask at some point. Come to think of it, Bones didn't wear any jewelry. He just looked like a normal guy. 

Apparently he noticed Jim staring at the long, dark locks on the wall. His mouth did a weird dance before he explained, "That's the trophy they take when they kill each other."

Jim looked away, licking his lips. "Oh."

"Come on," said Bones, grasping his arm and gently pulling him back. "I'll show you the rest."

 

The only other thing Jim remembered was the entire floor that belonged to Spock and Spock alone, rooms and rooms of laboratories and libraries that even Bones would need special permission to enter. 

"Here's your bedroom," Bones finally said, pulling open the curtain blocking a doorless opening in the wall. "I'm right next door if you need anything." Jim nodded. "Really, I mean it. Anything. Anytime. Ever. Wake me up in the middle of the goddamn night, ya hear? I've been where you are right now. I know what it's like. Just tell me what you need."

"Actually," said Jim, "I don't really have any... stuff. So maybe clothes? Blankets? And do we have our own bathroom or is that, you know, too much?"

"You crazy? Of course that's not too much. Spock might be an asshole, and pretentious, and rude, but he's not... well. He's pretty decent as far as aliens go." He looked left and right. "But don't tell him I said so, alright?"

"Which part?" Jim teased, "The insult or the compliment?"

Bones feigned surprise. "Why, the compliment, of course!"

Jim laughed. This felt good. Really good. Better than he'd felt in years. And maybe it was naive, but Jim was the kind of guy who believed in good things, eve after all he'd been through. And he wanted to believe that this good thing would last.

 

 


End file.
